


Sweet Thing

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 03:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can you write a little AU thing where Richard's a baker and the reader's his favourite customer that he keeps plying with his best delicacies?'Sure can! This is adorable.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey.”

You call into the still air, and smile to yourself, waiting for a moment. The place smells gorgeous, as per usual; today, the smell is baking bread, but yesterday it was frying donuts. You’re not strictly here for baked goods anyway…

A head peers out around the door to the kitchen, and then the man smiles; his jet-black hair is spiked up today, spotted with the white flour that covers his hands up to his elbows, nearly, his old, sandy-coloured apron, and his black t-shirt that emphasises just how _wide_ he is. You smile.

“Hey, Richard.”

“Good  _morning_ ,” he beams. “I was just baking bread… uh… would you like to try some?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling, and he heads back into the kitchen, grabbing a loaf of bread in one hand and a bread knife in the other. “Is it still warm?”

“It’s very warm.” He cuts you a slice of bread, and you take a moment to swoon slightly as he butters it and hands it to you on a plate. “I knew you’d be in around this time.”

“It’s not specially made, is it?” you grin, and have the satisfaction of his cheeks turning pink.

“Of course not.” He looks away, and smiles at you. “I mean… it’s a happy coincidence.” Your smile widens, and he shakes his head. “Well… I made some… they’re cannolis, they’re _Italian_. Would you like to try one?”

“Have you ever made any money?” you laugh, and he hands you one of the cream-filled pastries. “Or do you just hand out everything you make like the good neighbour?” He sticks his tongue out, and you take a bite. “Oh my god, Rich, this is so good.”

“Well, I knew you liked them,” he smiles. “I have to give you a reason to keep coming back.”

Your heart flutters at that. You are almost sure that he likes you - he’s always flirty - but maybe he’s like this for everyone, and you’re far too afraid to question him. Instead you grin, mouthful of cream, and he snorts.

“You’re so beautiful right now,” he says, and then his cheeks flood pink again. “I’m being sarcastic. In case it isn’t coming through.” You shake your head. “So… early meeting?”

“Actually, I have a day off today,” you say, and he tilts his head.

“And you are still here, letting yourself in when you know I’m shut until…” He checks his watch. “Honestly. I’m not opening for another ten minutes.” He grins, pulling his apron off, and grabs a plate, filling it. “So you can tell me what you think of these.”

You take the plate, and then grin when he puts a few items on one for himself; he clicks the coffee machine on, and a few minutes later, you are both sat there with a hot drink and a plethora of cakes each.

“I wouldn’t sell it unless you liked it,” he grins, and you look at the piece of cake you’re holding. “ _Zitronenrolle_. It has lemon, try it.” You take a bite - it’s dreamy, like everything this man does or is, and you nod, giving him the thumbs up. “I wish you were around all the time to taste everything…”

“You want me to come back later tonight?” you ask, jokingly, and he nods.

“If you want to.” His eyes are so green you could fall into them you realise, and he looks down. “I mean… you’re here every day.” His voice is teasing, but his words feel very serious. “You might as well… you know. Come back tonight. If you really are free.”

“You mean that,” you ask, and he nods, smiling. “I’m happy to.”

“It’s a date,” he says, and you swallow nervously. “Uh… I didn’t mean that. Unless you meant it. In which case, I totally meant it.”

“I meant it. If you meant it.” You both look at each other, and then Richard grins again. You love his smile. It’s so bright and sunny.

“Then it’s settled. A date, tonight. We… don’t really have to stay here. We can do… whatever,” he says, and you nod, feeling your cheeks flush. “Although… judging by the way you’ve cleared your plate, you seem to be having fun.”

You giggle, and then both of you jump as someone taps at the glass. He looks down at his watch, and jumps up.

“Look at you, keeping me distracted…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 'I would love a part 2 to the Richard bakery story. I'm dying to know how that date ends...'
> 
> Cutesy fluff is how!

“I didn’t know you could bake.”

Richard’s eyes crinkle in delight, and you place the pie down on the counter before him. His shop has been closed for precisely three minutes and thirty five seconds, and yet he somehow looks as if he’s been waiting for you for a lifetime.

“It’s a pie. You will probably be able to criticise it to death.” Your cheeks are pink, but he smiles at you, eyes crinkled in joy. “Uh… what are we doing for our date?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure. So… I had a stupid idea, and that is…” He swallows anxiously. “Uh… you said you were bringing the main course, so I will make the starter, and the dessert.” He bites his lip, and pulls his apron off. “Uh… let me just…” He swallows again, and you hold your finger up.

“I brought drinks. If that helps.” You pull out a bottle of margarita mix, and he tilts his head. “I… I assumed you drank.” You look up at him, and he beams widely.

“No, this is, this is perfect.” He leans forward and kisses you, gently, on the lips. “Uh… was that okay?” You nod, smiling, and kiss him, and he grins, rocking back on his feet. “Excellent. Let me just go wash up…”

* * *

You lean against Richard, and grin as he feeds you another piece of the _Zitronenrolle_.

“This is definitely my favourite,” you say, and he pulls you closer on the little sofa at the back of the shop. “Okay, so… do you want my professional critique on the meal?”“Not on the main course, but the bread… yes.” He looks up at you from under those dark eyelashes, pine eyes burning like a brand, and you snuggle up to him.

“Well, the bread was… moist, but not doughy, and very crunchy, but not… dry,” you say. “The choice of balsamic vinegar and chili oil was… masterful, if I do say so myself. Bypassing the… entirely-too-dry and flavourless pie for the main…” He pushes you gently, and then pulls you close, arm around you. “The eclairs were… sublime.” You kiss his jawline gently. “The macarons were… exquisite.”

“You know a lot of good words.” His hand settles on your hip, and you settle yours on his stomach, nestling under his chin. The margarita mix has loosened you up a bit, but he’s so warm and cosy - and you are so full of food - you can’t think of doing anything but cuddling up to him. “I am honoured.

“But this takes the cake. I made a pun.” You beam at him, and he shakes his head, before kissing your cheek gently.

“Your pie was amazing. Don’t make me make you move in here.” You lean back, smiling, and watch as a passing car throws lights through the bullseye front windows. “Seriously, though.” He looks at you, and you look at him, and when he leans in to kiss you, you don’t mind. You wind your arms around him, and kiss him until both of you have to pull away gasping for breath, and then you smile at him again.

“Oh, Richard. Maybe if you teach me how to make them better,” you say, and he nods, nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“Come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that,” he says, quietly, and you nod, spellbound by those eyes. He leans in, kissing you slowly and passionately. “And bring pie.”

“I will,” you sigh, and he strokes your face.

“Now… could you handle anything else?” he asks, and you grin. “I mean dessert, of course.”


End file.
